


orange / home with you

by fraldariuwus (sakesword)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Immortal Sword Husbands, Kissing, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Love, M/M, Makeup, Oranges, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, Sexual Content, Smut, Top My Unit | Byleth, very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25407322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakesword/pseuds/fraldariuwus
Summary: The last time Yuri and Byleth visited Almyra was long ago, after the war, and now they’ll be living here. Byleth welcomes Yuri to their new home by preparing a lunch for him; they take it beneath the shade of orange trees.
Relationships: Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 16
Kudos: 77





	orange / home with you

**Author's Note:**

> i am so soft for immortal sword husbands

The market air is spices. It’s been decades since Byleth last walked this meandering pathway through the stalls, yet nothing has changed. The mystery of Almyra remains unsolved, and it likely shall so remain, even as he and Yuri take up residence here, for the foreseeable future, at least. But when you’re immortal, what does _future_ mean?

It doesn’t matter, Byleth supposes, what time means to him, what it means to Yuri. Their presence here will make a difference, and that’s all they’ve ever been able to offer. It was Yuri’s idea: receding from the spotlight and the responsibilities of leadership, the puppetry—travel the world, help the world where it counts.

Yet, Yuri deserves to be pampered as well, the dirt cleaned from under his fingernails and upon his skin. Byleth will tend to him, so they can continue their endeavours. Though Yuri hides his weariness beneath that painted exterior, it’d be impossible not to be fatigued from the immense effort they each put in and the futility Byleth’s sure they both notice.

The braided jute bag in hand, Byleth leaves the market, traversing the plaza to the worse-off part of town. Even under Khalid’s heir’s leadership, these pockets are unpreventable: the injured begging, children pilfering bread, the kindly merchants that do share with those who need it most. And… Yuri.

Yuri’s voice—definitely Byleth’s husband’s voice—unmistakable even amidst the clamor of the alleys’ residents. Byleth doesn’t understand what he’s saying. A new song perhaps? The soft lilt, the honey-smooth tone, the mellifluously unrecognizable verses that tumble from Yuri’s lips as naturally as _I love you_. The children’s eyes watching him—a flashback to the times in Garreg Mach, in Abyss— _reverence_.

Yuri’s petite hand over a child’s shoulders as he gifts them his song, his heart, his care. A flicker in Yuri’s glance when he and Byleth exchange the gaze they’ve exchanged so many times before. The surprise, the sweep of blush, the nearly undetectable warmth in the lyrics Yuri’s currently delivering. Byleth doesn’t want to bother Yuri, but this far into their relationship, Byleth knows a part of Yuri is happy he’s here, clutching the tote of groceries, listening just as respectfully as the downtrodden youths are to the voice of his beloved.

“Was that Almyran?” Byleth asks when the children scatter and Yuri approaches him in languid steps. Even in the darkened alley, Yuri shines—his lips, his hair, the embellishment on the neckline and short sleeves of his light purple tunic. The well-spun cotton is loose, breathable, but still encasing Yuri’s delicate frame, due to the way he’s used a sash to cinch it at the waist over the simple sand-colored pants of the same material.

It’s sweltering here and Byleth has also acclimated to the custom of dress. Just imagining what it’d be like to be clad in his old Fódlanese black leather armor rather than the V-necked white shirt he’s wearing causes Byleth to sweat.

“It was,” Yuri says. “What are you doing here?” Byleth raises his grocery bag in response. “Oh, love, you went to the market without me?”

“Yes,” Byleth answers. “I didn’t know you spoke Almyran.”

“Only a few songs,” Yuri admits. “I learned some phrases when I treated with Khalid, but I don’t have a full grasp of the language. I’d like to, though.”

“I’m sure you will,” Byleth says. Yuri can do anything he sets his mind to. “Should we return to the palace?”

“I suppose so,” Yuri responds. “I’m so curious to know what you bought.”

“You’ll see.”

*

The summer palace, that of Almyran royalty. History is engraved into every surface: in the curvilinear mosaics, the garden, the very alabaster walls, the trees. This place is as breathtaking now as it was on their first visit, when Yuri and Byleth followed Khalid on a tour through the grounds.

Anyone would be spellbound by the decorative domed ceilings, anyone could study them for years, never passing even the foyer of this estate, and they are but one of the accents the ancient Almyrans defined. Intricacies everywhere; fractals and wisdom hidden in the tiniest details of tiles.

Yuri’s eyes always sparkle when he fathoms the rich blue on white on blue, the at-once straightforward yet convoluted patterns of a single mantle. Will the two of them ever adjust to living amongst such grandeur?

Byleth grips Yuri’s hand as Yuri leans forward to contemplate an etching in the old language that borders a doorway. Even though they’ll both far outlive those who crafted this place, the wonder Yuri’s experiencing is worth pausing here.

“Sorry,” Yuri apologizes.

“It’s fine,” Byleth says. “I’m glad you like it here.”

“Heh, I guess I do.”

“Shall we have lunch?” Byleth asks.

“Oh, yes.” Yuri tugs on Byleth’s hand and leads Byleth to the kitchen. It’s larger than they need, but direct in its offerings. Typically, Yuri does the cooking, and though they haven’t been here for long, Yuri’s already created such divine meals from market ingredients. It’s Byleth’s turn to contribute.

There’s a muted clang from one of the jars within when Byleth places the bag on the stone counter. Byleth immediately begins to rummage through to reveal the treats he bought and Yuri cocks his head to the side to observe.

Local cheeses, sheep and goat most likely, jarred olives, cured meats, a cloth-covered container of fig-jam, hearth-baked bread. It all seemed delicious in the hands of the artisans, and it demanded a hefty price tag to match.

“I want to cook for you,” Byleth says. “I know you didn’t have breakfast.”

“Aww.” Yuri trails a hand over the cotton of Byleth’s sleeve, “You’re cute.” Yuri surveys the array of foods around them and remarks, “I don’t think any of this requires cooking, though.”

“I suppose it doesn’t.” There’s a reason Yuri always does the shopping.

“We may as well have a picnic,” Yuri suggests. “That’s even better, actually. I can spend more time with you.”

“Yeah,” Byleth agrees, kissing Yuri’s cheek. “Wait in the gardens, and I’ll meet you.”

“You sure?” Yuri asks, voice full of need to assist. A memory of them slaving over a stove at the dining hall fogs Byleth’s vision. Back then, Byleth looked to Yuri for guidance in all matters of cuisine, another thing that hasn’t changed, Byleth smiles to himself. But this is the least Byleth can do to welcome Yuri to their new home speckled with palms and orange trees, backdropped by cliffsides and the rush of the sea.

“Of course,” Byleth says. “Take a parasol if you need.”

“All right.” Yuri shifts onto his sandaled tiptoes to kiss Byleth, heels don’t lend themselves well in the alleys. “I’ll bring supplies.”

The utensils clatter in Yuri’s hands as he gathers them, the clay plates clack together, and Yuri departs, leaving Byleth to the task. Retrieving a silver platter from a cupboard, slicing the meat precisely, the cheese and bread. Organizing them into sections. The olives command a bowl. An iced mint and lemon drink the staff of the manor provided complements the feast. 

Once the spread is arranged, Byleth lifts the tray and carries it toward the garden.

“Master, do you or Lord Eisner require any assistance?” one of the House Riegan gold-robed servants asks.

“That won’t be necessary,” Byleth says. “Please, enjoy your day.”

The black-haired woman nods and scurries off, Byleth hopes she heeded his advice.

When Byleth opens the door leading outside, he’s greeted by only vivid sky. The late afternoon Almyran sun is blazing, beating down over the lower level’s courtyard and its fabled grove. Byleth descends the stairs, watching the treetops grow until they are large enough to appear overhead and gift their shade as he steps onto the grass beneath them.

Oranges. Their scent and their bloom.

Byleth frees a hand, cupping the rounded outer flesh of a fruit at eye level, twisting as he grasps to pluck it from where it hangs.

There’s Yuri: sitting on a blanket, back propped against a tree, chin tilted up. Yuri’s studying the stone fountain feeding the cerulean pool to their right, its babbling stream the only sound besides the gusts shaking the trees and the rose and azalea hedges beyond. To think that kings tread here before them.

“Yuri-bird.” Byleth interrupts Yuri’s reverie with that cherished nickname. Settling onto the richly dyed and decorated woven mat beside Yuri, Byleth presents the tray of goodies in front of them, next to the wicker basket. “How are you?”

“Better, now that you’re here,” Yuri coos, repositioning himself where he belongs, in Byleth’s lap.

“It was nice to hear you sing today,” Byleth says, giving Yuri a quick squeeze from behind.

“You surprised me.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Yuri states before picking up a slice of bread and dressing it with cured meat and cheese, then drizzling some jam on top.

“That looks good.”

Yuri finishes his bite, “It is. Should I make one for you?”

Byleth doesn’t answer before the silverware dings against the platter and Yuri prepares an equivalent, albeit bigger version of the same and hands it back to Byleth.

Such harmony of flavors: salt and sweet and crisp. Leave it to Yuri to devise such an artful combination from just the random selection Byleth procured at the market. Yuri’s palate is legendary.

“It’s so delicious.”

“I had a feeling you might like it,” Yuri says. “Knife, please.”

What is left to cut? Byleth doesn’t know what Yuri needs it for, but he grasps the curved blade on his hip and gives it to Yuri, handle first.

The juxtaposition of Yuri’s thin, elegant fingers and the crescent edge of the dirk Byleth recently purchased is mesmerizing. The first time Byleth trained with Yuri, he was perplexed by how Yuri could be so deadly with a sword—surely, those long, manicured nails affected his grip when he curled a fist around the hilt. Byleth has accepted it by now, but that doesn’t stop him from staring at Yuri’s crimson-varnished fingertips as he palms the orange Byleth picked and unsheathes the dagger.

Yuri’s shoulderblades dig into Byleth when Byleth leans forward to get a better view, to experience all of this. How Yuri presses the knife away from him with the pad of his thumb to separate the orange’s rind from its juicy inner flesh. How the peel cascades into a spiral onto the gleaming metal platter. How Yuri’s ring, too, shines.

Once the orange’s inside is its own, Yuri sheathes the dagger and places it on the blanket. Before Yuri can split the fruit on its natural faults, Byleth catches Yuri’s left wrist. It’s so small, movable—Byleth leverages it to rotate Yuri’s hand, contemplating the flames that strike from within the midnight purple gem, the blinding white flashes of the silver band. When Byleth retrieved it from his father’s office, he’d never have believed what joy a piece of jewelry could bring.

“Sentimental today, are we?” There’s the slightest fissure of warmth in Yuri’s tease, “By, why don’t we try the orange?”

Byleth considers the gradient once more before he allows Yuri use of his wrist. Now Yuri can pick up the skinless orange and further manipulate it, breaking into its Goddess-defined pieces and laying them each neatly on the platter. Yuri and Byleth are blessed to have arrived during the Garland Moon, any later in the season and the oranges would be past their prime. 

When Yuri shifts, Byleth almost protests, he doesn’t want Yuri to leave, he wants to hold Yuri tighter. But Yuri was merely repositioning, swinging his legs to the side as he turns to face Byleth, pinching a slice of orange and pushing it toward Byleth’s mouth. Byleth accepts, biting down perhaps too early, for some of the juices squirt out, trickling down his chin and onto Yuri’s fingers.

Yuri’s chime-like laugh rings clear over the pleasant chirping of birds and the susurrating plant life, the crashing of waves in their eternal battle against the cliffed shore. Closed, Yuri’s eyes are like slashes of the night, his fire-toned eyeshadow a desert sun setting over the horizon.

Yuri’s smile when he tastes but a drop of the ripe citrus.

Yuri’s glistening lips. Vanilla and orange are so tempting, together.

For now, Byleth halts, his desire for Yuri less important than Yuri savoring the fruit, nibbling carefully so as not to repeat Byleth’s mistake. Yuri’s love for sweets, the innocence Yuri exudes when he indulges in them. The connection to family.

Byleth could watch Yuri like this forever. He’s so thankful he will.

“Shall we take a walk in the garden?” Yuri asks once he swallows the final piece.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like another?”

“Let’s pick some more later.”

“All right.” Byleth rises, then takes Yuri’s hand to help him up from the blanket. 

It’s windy today, the refreshing breeze that twists into both of their hair and between the branches is the only reason it’s bearable to walk into the open. The air carries the aroma of oranges everywhere, even overpowering the late spring’s blossom as a few flowers fall to the earth.

Pretty.

But nowhere near as pretty as one that floats to rest atop the crown of Yuri’s head. Byleth never pondered the petals or stamen of the buds he’s been surrounded by so closely as he does for this one. For a moment, Yuri continues to stroll toward the uncovered courtyard, but stops when he realizes Byleth isn’t following.

“Are you coming?” Yuri asks, turning around.

“You have a flower in your hair.” Byleth clasps the short stem and tucks it behind Yuri’s ear.

The white bloom in Yuri’s long lavender tresses, the fluttering of his eyelashes. The parting of Yuri’s glistening, peachy lips. Even after all this time, Yuri’s as he was when they fell in love.

“You’re so quiet,” Yuri comments. “What’s on your mind?”

“I was just thinking about how it felt to fall in love with you.”

Under the shadow of the trees, Yuri blushes, his finger strokes his cheek and he tilts his head down toward his shoulder, “Oh…”

Byleth has to hold Yuri right there. His tiny waist is so easy to wrap around, Yuri’s eyes flare amethyst when they flick back to stare into Byleth’s, “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask, you know,” Yuri deflects. “It’s been long enough, yeah?”

Maybe it’s selfish, but Byleth wanted Yuri to blush. The pink dusting that softens Yuri’s adorable, already soft cheeks, the twinkle before Yuri buries his face in the back of his hand never fails to spark an immeasurable happiness within him; it’s Byleth alone who chips through Yuri’s façade.

Orange and vanilla, Byleth was right. The stickiness of Yuri’s creamy gloss is intensified by the sweet juice lingering on his lower lip when Byleth kisses him, so chaste, yet so meaningful. Just this would have been enough, but Yuri deepens the kiss and Byleth pulls him closer by the small of his back. Byleth is powerless to resist, he allows Yuri’s tongue to prod, to slide into his mouth, for Yuri to press himself flush.

This is perfect. Sensing Yuri, his taste, his touch, his fragrance, it couldn’t be more immaculate. Byleth won’t close his eyes, there’s no need to get lost here.

Yuri’s the one who retreats, “You haven’t changed since then, either.”

“What do you mean?” Byleth breathes.

“You never say no to me.”

“I’ve never had a reason to.” Other than encouraging Yuri to be honest with him, it’s true. And now that they’ve been partners—been married—for more of their lives than not, the instances where Byleth has had to do so have become few and far between. Yet, Byleth looks out for them.

Byleth kisses Yuri again, and Yuri’s eyes flutter shut; Byleth still won’t do the same. He needs to see how dainty, how fragile Yuri is, to be entranced by the sheen of Yuri’s bangs, to covet the brush of Yuri’s silky, waist-length hair in Byleth’s calloused palm as he strokes over Yuri's back.

It was enough, but now it isn’t.

Byleth lets go, somewhat forcefully splaying his hands over Yuri’s narrow chest to pin Yuri against a tree.

It’s like when they first visited here; it’s like when they used to sneak off in Abyss. Any corner, any hard surface can Byleth trap Yuri up against has always been fair game.

“Oh.” Yuri’s lilac gaze corsucates with delight when Byleth’s hand drops from his back, rounding the curve of Yuri’s ass to grip beneath his thigh, and Byleth urges himself toward Yuri. The thin cotton they’re both wearing does nothing to obscure how much they want each other. Even if a groundskeeper were to walk by, even though it’s only hotter so near to Yuri, Byleth needs this.

“You taste good,” Byleth says, arching back to swipe his thumb over Yuri’s lip. “I like your new makeup.” The peachy gloss is different from that which Yuri used to wear, but there’s something rather familiar about it—its flavor, its shine. The weather-mandated, lighter application of foundation reveals some of the glow of Yuri’s skin. The angular black line over his eyelid beneath the warm shadow contrasts with Yuri’s cool, crystalline eyes—Byleth can’t escape. No matter how he paints, Yuri’s beautiful, but Byleth will never tire of Yuri’s experimentation. Especially seeing it come apart in ruin.

“You do, too,” Yuri says. “I like sweet.”

“Have more,” Byleth says before lifting Yuri fully off the ground and plunging his tongue into Yuri’s mouth. No need to communicate anything other than that, Yuri’s legs are wrapped around Byleth now, a configuration they’re both well accustomed to.

Yuri gasps when Byleth withdraws to kiss down his jaw, pecking an increasingly sparse trail of lipstick down his neck. It’s been far too long since Byleth left a mark, Yuri’s collars have become far too low. New perfume, as well—it’s spicy, like cinnamon, but Yuri’s own musk is what Byleth is after, what he needs to savor. Flitting Yuri’s hair to the side, Byleth nips at Yuri before sucking down hard.

“Byleth…”

Hearing his name only causes Byleth to crave Yuri more, he’s rubbing his dick against Yuri, deliberate and easy, methodically, even though Byleth’s burning, even though he can’t vanquish the thought of having his husband now and here.

“Should I take you to bed?” Byleth asks.

“No…”

There’s a brief pang of disappointment that ties Byleth’s stomach in knots, but maybe Byleth _was_ getting carried away. Whatever Yuri wants is what Byleth wants. “Sorry. I just thought—“

“Here.” One word. That’s all that’s necessary, that and the piercing glance, the pinch of Yuri’s lip between his own teeth. Byleth sinks to the ground with Yuri in his arms, so Yuri can straddle him. They haven’t made it far from where they had their picnic.

It’s nice to be in control, but also to relinquish it, to let Yuri set the pace. Yuri’s cock nudges against Byleth’s own when Yuri leans forward to resume their kiss. Deeper now—Byleth’s bold enough sneak his hands beneath Yuri’s stylish tunic. Yuri’s tight body; so lovely and slim, as it ever was. The perfect pink nipples Byleth can’t see, but can roll between his fingertips. Yuri’s reaction, Yuri’s breath hitching.

Byleth sucks on whatever he can: Yuri’s tongue, on and around Yuri’s lips, punishingly hard, but Yuri likes it like that. The bruise blooming on Yuri’s neck calls to Byleth, calls for Byleth to rake his teeth over it, then to add another just above. Just Yuri coming undone like this—the raw skin, the mascara streaking, the fervent motion of Yuri’s hips as he grinds into Byleth’s lap—would be satisfying for Byleth, but Yuri always returns the favor.

“Let go,” Yuri commands, rather out of breath.

And Byleth always obeys, tensing in anticipation when Yuri climbs out of his lap and walks backward on his knees, positioning his face over where the cotton is tenting between Byleth’s thighs. Byleth awaits the drag of Yuri’s nails along his hips, awaits Yuri hooking his fingers under his waistband, but it never happens. Instead, the wet heat of Yuri’s mouth presses against Byleth through the khaki material of his pants. Yuri swipes his tongue over the shaft before he purses his lips to form a seal over the head of Byleth’s cock.

Even through the two layers, one of his breeches and one of his smallclothes, Byleth quivers from the sensation. Byleth’s hands stroke over the flower, through Yuri’s long hair, playing with it, clutching at it and the fabric of Yuri’s tunic as Yuri continues to twist his tongue and lap at Byleth. Goddess, Yuri is talented, and has only become more so over the years they’ve spent together. If he pleased, there’s no doubt Yuri could bring Byleth to the edge, and past, without any direct contact. Yuri just about does before Byleth grabs a fistful of lilac strands and shirt and forces Yuri off of him.

“Yuri-bird,” Byleth groans, his cock twitches at Yuri’s exhale and the saliva that strings between it and Yuri’s mouth.

They both stare at Byleth’s bulge—at Yuri’s effect on it—the damp, darkened spot, the light pink stain of lipstick. “Someone enjoyed that.”

“How could I not?”

The kindling within Byleth has been replaced by only flame. 

“You want more, don’t you?”

Byleth responds with the subtlest widening of his eyes, a quick blink, and Yuri departs to search through the picnic basket.

“You’re always prepared,” Byleth comments when Yuri returns to his side.

“You should know that by now.”

“I do.” He’d relish in bantering with Yuri until the moon hangs high in the dusky sky, but there’s one thing on Byleth’s mind, “Take off your pants.”

“Worked you up, did I?”

Again, the look, and Yuri relents, kicking off his sandals and leggings. The tunic is long enough so it resembles a dress. Yuri’s naked body is a sight to behold, but there’s something maddening about only being able to see Yuri’s legs; supple thighs, toned calves, smooth skin. They’re all Byleth can focus on, he can’t resist caressing Yuri’s inner thigh. Yuri trembles at the touch.

“I’m so lucky.”

“You are,” Yuri flirts. “And so am I.”

Byleth’s heart can’t race, can’t skip a beat, but there's a spike in his arousal that isn’t derived from lust.

“Give me the oil.” The shape of this bottle Byleth has memorized, how to most swiftly pop off the cork, just as Yuri has memorized to bend over before him. When Yuri does, the purple-dyed cotton of Yuri’s shirt falls to hang over his ass. _No._ Byleth catches it and hikes it up to rest atop the belt at Yuri’s waist. Everything about Yuri is stunning, from any angle, any position; his thighs, his skinny fingers spreading his cheeks, the hang of his balls, his puckered hole. “You’re beautiful.”

Even though Byleth is aching, it’s too special—the scenery, the atmosphere, the wind still freeing flowers from the trees, the sun and sky nearing a salmon hue, the scent of the earth—too spectacular, to not prepare Yuri with the utmost care. Even if it’s a form of torture for both of them when Byleth circles Yuri’s rim so gently before finally sinking an oiled finger in to the knuckle.

“Byleth…” Yuri whines. “More.”

A part of Byleth delights in Yuri’s begging, in Yuri’s exasperation, in Yuri’s need, “More what?”

“Stop teasing. Just… More.”

Byleth slips another finger inside, spreading both of them out against the muscle, easing Yuri open enough for Byleth to fit. Byleth is aware he’s not giving Yuri what he truly yearns for, is more so when Yuri pushes back onto his hand, shifting his body weight so Byleth grazes his prostate.

“Goddess,” Byleth says, punctuating by pressing where Yuri wants it so badly.

“More,” Yuri repeats.

Yuri winces when Byleth taps his finger against that spot, “Do you like it?”

“Byleth,” Yuri murmurs, “the sun is going down.” Yuri rocks back again, his voice quavers when he admits, “I wanted to watch it with you.”

That melts Byleth. It’s not, but even if it were only one of Yuri’s tactical phrases to get his way, it’d melt Byleth. Of course, Byleth, too, wants to make love to his husband, and watch the sun descend over the sea with him from the garden’s ledge.

After all of their trysts, Byleth is efficient at this. He knows how to stretch Yuri out so he can fill Yuri up exactly the way they both need.

“Are you ready?” Byleth asks.

“Yes,” Yuri confirms, shivering even beneath this heat. “Please.” Byleth is also efficient at this, at shoving his breeches down to his knees, at oiling up his cock, at aligning himself with Yuri from behind. But Yuri tumbles to the side and pushes Byleth down, “Against the tree. No shirt.” It catches Byleth off guard, but he’s grateful Yuri suggested that, the frost of sweat on his skin is only going to mist, melt, and drip. Yuri gets back into Byleth’s lap and whispers, “I’d like to see you.”

“I’d like that, too.” Byleth would never refuse it like this: holding Yuri’s waist, staring at Yuri’s pretty dick peeking out from beneath the tunic, at the precum already beading on it, at Yuri hovering over Byleth to take him inside. Byleth can’t resist tracing his thumb over Yuri’s slit and kissing his makeup-smeared cheek.

“Goddess,” Yuri whines. “Just fuck me.”

Byleth loosens his grip when Yuri bows back, lowering himself, gritting his teeth. Yuri’s smudgy eyes widen then screw shut as he sheaths Byleth to the hilt within him. He looks so content biting back a moan.

Byleth kisses Yuri’s cheek again, “I love you.”

“Fuck, Byleth,” Yuri manages. Yuri might need this more than Byleth does, he starts bucking his hips, bouncing in Byleth’s lap, warm and tight and slick, sending ripples of pleasure throughout Byleth, “Don’t just sit there.”

Yuri beams when Byleth clutches Yuri's waist to lift him up along his cock, erratic motions ceasing and fading into near stillness—Yuri is limp—he’s letting Byleth _use_ him, he wants Byleth to use him, Yuri only tilts so Byleth hits where Yuri wants him to.

And Yuri knows where he wants it. Yuri breathes through his nostrils, keening and whimpering, “Close. Slower.”

Byleth releases Yuri’s waist, shuddering at the feel of Yuri around him, at how he’s throbbing, leaking within the tightness. One roll of Yuri’s hips reverberates throughout Byleth until it comes out a groan.

Yuri’s panting, his tongue juts out, leaving a bubble of spit over his lower lip in its wake. The state of just about completely unraveled, the state where Yuri might recline onto a pillow of lavender tendrils, sweating, his dick spent and wilting. Yuri squints, “By, you’re too good.”

“You can come.”

“My shirt…”

“I’ll get you another.”

“ _Goddess._ ” Yuri seems to have accepted that offer, moving again, chasing his final release, the sound of Byleth’s slick cock in him quite loud, but Yuri is louder. Yuri loves to play it up, but they’re still somewhat exposed—Byleth muffles Yuri’s cries by darting his tongue into Yuri’s mouth, he doesn’t care that Yuri bites down. The sharpness, the pain, the taste of orange only spur Byleth on to give Yuri everything he has, to speed up to meet Yuri’s every lift.

“I love you,” Byleth draws back to say.

“By,” Yuri mutters, he looks away, toward the grass as ropes of cum spurt out to decorate his tunic. Ruin—the shirt, the liner, the gloss, the wildness of Yuri’s long hair, how low the orange blossom now clings to it. Two sides of Yuri, this one only Byleth sees. This one he’ll always keep to himself—revel in, by himself.

The image alone—and Yuri spasming around him—threatens Byleth to succumb to what is as natural as the white-dotted verdancy of the orange trees, the ocean, the clouds.

“Byleth… Byleth!” Yuri’s gorgeous voice, echoing how Byleth makes him feel.

Just a little more. Byleth pushes Yuri to the earth, lunging to lie on top of him. Even though Yuri’s finished, he clenches around Byleth, the corners of his mouth curl into a small smirk when Byleth snaps as far as he can into Yuri.

The seed between them is on Byleth’s abs too now, hot, sticking them together. A moan escapes Byleth, jolts of icy electricity zap through him, hardening his nipples. 

It can be better—Byleth kneels, reaching beneath Yuri’s ass, pulling Yuri’s legs off the ground to hook Yuri’s ankles over his shoulders. The gold-embroidered hem of the tunic falls back toward Yuri’s chest and now Byleth can watch Yuri’s cock, curved against his lower belly, weeping, shaking each time Byleth thrusts into him. So deep.

“I love you.” Yuri knows when to say it. To save Byleth; to tear Byleth to pieces. There’s nothing but Yuri, nothing but home.

“Yuri-bird,” Byleth chokes out as he spills into his husband, nails clawing into Yuri’s thighs. The slippery, hot cum coats Byleth’s cock, but Yuri contracts again, coaxing more Byleth might never have expected after that.

Byleth lets Yuri’s legs down, warmed by the smile that meets Yuri’s eyes. A white stream leaks onto the garden’s floor when Byleth pulls out of Yuri and collapses to his side.

“I love being married to you,” Yuri says, cuddling up to Byleth’s bare chest, swiping a finger over the mess.

”It’s the best,” Byleth agrees, too at peace to do anything but peer upward.

The reddened sky is visible through the gaps of the treetops above them, it’s sprayed with dark purple clouds. This wouldn’t be the worst way to watch the sunset. In this condition, they might not be able to arrive at the cliff’s edge. Byleth wouldn’t mind just staring at Yuri, though, listening to Yuri’s ragged breaths, threading his fingers through Yuri’s hair, feeling the thump of Yuri’s ever-beating heart.

Yuri sits up, he’s always been enchanted by the sky.

Byleth follows, pushing off the soft grass to settle next to the one he loves. Byleth’s hands instinctively slide toward his shoulders to remove the cloak that isn’t there, Byleth’s arm will have to do. Yuri nuzzles against Byleth, inhaling as he takes in the sight.

“I’m looking forward to our life here,” Byleth says.

“I wish we could do more.” A sadness cracks throughout Yuri’s statement.

“We’re doing what we can.”

Without hurting others it’s difficult to have an effect, without valuing coin over lives it’s nearly impossible to make an impact. But Yuri has been so proactive in doing so. Even as technology has advanced, even as it has advanced to destroy, Yuri’s stuck to his principles. He’s been coming to this alley, and ones like it, for years and years. Now Abyss thrives, and Almyra shall walk the same path. 

No matter where they reside, their home is each other. A home where Yuri dreams, and Byleth will do anything to protect Yuri’s dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, feel free to let me know what you think!
> 
> I just... had this mental image of Yuri in an orange grove that inspired me to write this. I thought it was only going to be fluff, but I have no self control so this happened....
> 
> [my twitter!](https://twitter.com/fraldariuwus)


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